


there will be time

by molerein



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt and comfort, Not MCU compliant, Team as Family, it does have a happy ending tho dw, the avengers are there for nat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21681280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/molerein/pseuds/molerein
Summary: the past rarely remains in the past. but when it comes back to rear its ugly head, natasha must rely on others to make sure that when she buries it this time, it stays six feet under.or, bucky gets shot, and natasha wants to know who did it.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Logan & Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Avengers Team, Sharon Carter/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov
Kudos: 14





	there will be time

**Author's Note:**

> There will be time, there will be time  
> To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;  
> There will be time to murder and create,  
> and time for all the works and days of hands  
> that lift and drop a question on your plate;  
> time for you and time for me,  
> and time yet for a hundred indecisions,  
> and for a hundred visions and revisions,  
> before the taking of a toast and tea.
> 
> the love song of j. alfred prufrock, t. s. eliot

natasha is en route to bolivia when she gets the call, which, after decades of espionage, both for and against the country she is currently playing for, should mean that it would both surprise and frustrate her less. but the matters of the heart are fickle, and regardless, she wouldn't want to reign it in. not amidst the trusted few.

as per fury's request, she had gone outside the borders to investigate a possible bomb threat, but the trail had been cold until the past few days, when a couple lowlifes had squeaked out a name when faced with the widow's cutting smile. that, apparently, would have to wait for another day.

"barnes is injured." no greetings, no how is your trip, no pleasantries. maria hill cuts right to the bone, and although the woman is impressive at keeping her voice steady in crazy situations, natasha detects a slight weaver she doesn't like at all.

"barnes gets injured a lot." it's not a lie. but it's also a way to ask for more information, because to ask outright would mean putting her heart on a platter, and she's never been comfortable with the gory details such move would inevitably string along. the dismissal comes with an inborn ease mother russia would be proud of. 

across the line, static, followed by what she thinks is a sigh. which, in all her experience of trading half truths with hill, means two things: one, natasha isn't quite as funny as she thinks she is, and two... it's worse than she imagined. for a brief, delicate, interminable moment, she can feel her heart stop.

"i'll be back in 90," she says, and turns the jet around.

the truth is this. she has lived a long life, been many people, danced gracefully on the fine thread that sets apart the truth from something else. she has watched the iron curtain get melted away into memory, has broken fingernails on the ragged remains of the berlin wall. all that to say, fear is not a stranger to her. rather, she has invited it into her bed, grown familiar and intimate with its shape next to her. and yet it is always a punch to the gut. 

there is nothing more terrifying than the unknown, and perhaps that is why she has made sure that her web spreads far and wide, that she surrounds herself with the predictable and the well known. and that's where folly comes into play. hubris, or something which feels far too akin to hope for comfort, have lulled her into thinking herself invincible. she has lived long, and she has suffered enough. but life rarely follows the same pattern. sooner, rather than later, she should have expected for the safe lie of the mundane to come to an end.

"i'm stuck in traffic. is he stable?" not the question she wants to ask, but it carries the same weight. she hears shuffling on the phone's speaker, the distinct sound of clint running his fingers through his hair, as he is wont to do in periods of stress. instead of doing the same, she tightens her fingers on the wheel. outside her window, on the right side, a man gets out of his car and starts swearing. 

"he crashed twice, tasha. not gonna lie, it doesn't look good. they just want you here because he has you as his next of kin and..." 

her jaw clenches to the point of pain. 

she had told him not to do it, the remnants of paranoia from their previous romantic liaison still clawing at her spine. but james had rolled his eyes, waved her off. 

"i want to." he said, and then smiled at her in the way that makes it hard for her to deny him anything, taking her hand in both of his. she should have insisted, weighing the pros and cons, because sure, they didn't have to hide anymore, but such an outward display could be dangerous.

instead, she laughed, allowing him to pull her closer and into the circle of his arms, letting him convince her with his words and touches, and that was that.

"tasha?"

she blinks, moves the car the few inches allowed for her to move, shakes her head to shake off the hopeless feeling gnawing at her heart.

"i'm fine. i'll be there." she doesn't sound convincing to her own ears, but clint is gracious enough not to call her out on it. instead, he tells her he'll keep her posted, and hangs up.

it's kindness on his part, really. sometimes it astonishes her how well he actually knows her, even after years of working together, despite being each other's confidant in times of need. 

but there is so little information he could spare her, so little they know and it's that, along with the idea of james battling for his life in an operation table, that makes her blood boil. she's not nearly romantic enough to think that her presence there would sway the outcome in any way, and regardless of where it happens, be it stuck in traffic or stuck in the hall of the hospital, the waiting game is still a waiting game.

by the time she gets there, her indignation had shifted into quiet, simmering rage, and james is no closer to being stable than he was sixty minutes prior. 

steve greets her first, eyes haunted, but still managing to put on a smile for her sake. his arms wrap around her, safe and secure, something she didn't know she needed until she was right there and the weight of the news and the past hours finally catches on to her. he says nothing for a while, broad form shielding her from other prying eyes, and allows her this, for however long she'll take it.

which is precisely thirty seconds. 

"do we know what happened?" it's not the tone she uses with him when they're staying up at night, steve, james, sharon and herself, watching mindless late night television. it's not the one he gets to hear on their get-togethers when they're getting milkshakes in the new place he'd discovered that week, careless and free. it's battlefield ready, and he recognises it as such, because he straightens, he changes from steve rogers to captain america before her eyes.

it's comforting in ways the hug hadn't been.

"we don't know much," is how he chooses to preface his statement. she catches sharon's eyes over his shoulder, and they share a brief, tacit moment of support. next to sharon, clint is pretending to doze off, hat over his eyes and posture relaxed to anyone but her.

steve relays what little information he does know. james was shot, but thankfully whoever tried to kill him was not the best at aiming, or had wanted to send a message. natasha is leaning more towards the latter. there were two bullets: one had broken on impact, shattering on a rib, but it hadn't pierced anything vital. the other had pierced clear through, but they are yet to find it. he was in civilian clothes, returning from the lunch he had had with steve. no battle, no captain america cowl, just a man being shot in the middle of the street.

the shooter had been a sniper, and clint had already went over the nest, coming back with varying degrees of nothing. the whole thing was planned - and whoever was behind this had taken their time to learn the routes he would take, and to study his schedule. the fact that neither she nor james noticed a shadow worries her.

steve reaches to take her hand and squeeze, runs a thumb over her knuckles twice, but he continues on like nothing happened. "fury has an entire team deployed. we'll get to the bottom of this, nat. i promise." 

they both know that promises in their line of work mean nothing, and yet they're dangerous. but she takes it, understands that it's not about her, not really.

steve had lost james before, and she's certain that he'll move mountains to make sure he doesn't lose him again. it's him failing to do that that worries her.

she doesn't voice any of that, of course. would do neither of them any good. 

instead, she squeezes past steve to flag down a doctor, who regurgitates the same kind of non-information she already knows. they don't expect him to make it, is what the young man does not tell her, partly because he's afraid of her reaction. 

good, she thinks. let him be afraid. let them all be afraid. 

luxemburg is humid this time of the year, and her hair gets frizzy, but james likes it like that. he's told her so much before, wrapping flesh fingers around a single curl and giving it a tug. it gets him a glare, softened only by the way her lashes lower in demure contemplation, watching the way the sun reflects on the window of their hotel room and onto his face. 

he's always been unfairly handsome, but more so in times like this - carefree, released from the burden of titles and unweighted by any weapon but that of his own hands. 

(they're both killers. it's why they fit so well.) 

she doesn't remember what she tells him then, but it gets her a laugh, sun-bright and easy, and her chest heats up in kind. she'd love him anyhow, covered in blood and grime or in a suit he hates, but maybe she loves him a little more like this, naked and smiling at her beneath the sheets, in a room devoid of ghosts.

"think hill'll let us stay one more day?" he asks into the crook of her neck, because she's already moved closed, inexplicably drawn to him like magnets seeking each other. her fingers in his hair give pause, then she resumes the motion of scratching at his scalp, just the way he likes it.

"she will if we don't tell her we've completed our objective," is her reply, dulcet and soft, sharpened only by the mischievous curve of her smile. 

he pulls back, gasps, presses a hand to his chest, as if in shock. it's an old game of theirs, living on borrowed time. stretching the moments until they threaten to snap. 

"why, miss romanova! i never thought i'd see the day you break a rule!"

that's a blatant lie, and he knows it. but he pulls her into a kiss, and any protest she's brewed on the tip of her tongue dissolves into nothing.

he's not smiling now. he doesn't look like he's asleep either, which is a stupid thought to have, because he _is_ asleep. but the colour has drained from his face, and his eyelids do not twitch with dreams. he looks peaceful in all the wrong ways. the various machines he's been wired to beep in deceptive unison. 

"trying to wish him awake, kid?" the voice startles her, but it takes her an embarrassingly long moment to actually turn. logan leans against the door, fingers tapping against the wood. he appears as if he had just freshly climbed out of hell, which for him is a good thing.

"hiding away, actually. everyone thinks i need time alone, so i'm taking full advantage."

"he did the same thing, y'know." he adds, seeing right through her, because of course he would. he's one of the few people who can, but lying has always come easier than telling the truth. "when you were in hospital. wouldn't leave your side. had to threaten him to go shower. do you need me to threaten you too?"

natasha laughs, an ugly sound, like an animal snarling, but he doesn't flinch, even when she pins him with her gaze. "what i need is answers." which is a pretty great way of saying that she sees through him too. logan snorts, pushes off from the door and walks the short trek to where she's been sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair. then, when she holds out a hand for her, he drops a single bullet into her open palm.

"couldn't find much else. whoever did this barely left a trail. or they did, and it got washed away. should'a called me in sooner, tsarina. can't tell you much about the bullet either, but that's not my thing."

she knows all of this - but she wasn't told until after the incident, and she had called him as soon as she could. which is to say, not quickly enough. with a furrow of her brow, the bullet gets weighted, thumb running over the indentations and ridges like it could speak to her. it can't. she'll have to see igor, but that's another stop on the long trail she's already planning. 

"thanks. it's something." if she sounds a little disappointed, he doesn't call her out on it. she had hoped for more, but knew better than to actively entertain the idea that anything good would come out of it.

instead of leaving like she thought he would, logan pulls her into his arms, and it takes her a couple seconds before she returns it. the tremor in her shoulders gets his attention, and he turns his head to press a kiss to her temple. 

"he'll pull through, tasha. he's been though worse than this and you know it." he stays where he is for a moment longer, allowing her the dignity to pull herself back together, but when he pulls back, he reaches to wipe away at a stray tear she had missed. she doesn't mind him seeing her like this - they've come a long way since she was a little girl - but it still stings. "i'll keep my eyes peeled, eh? call me if you need me."

and then he's gone.

james' hand is cold in hers, so she switches to the metal one. that way, it would feel less wrong, less like she's holding on to a ghost. but she can't stay long, and she knows that he would understand. so instead of the hopelessness that is growing inside her, she focuses on the embers of anger, fans them into a forest fire.

when she walks out of the room, steve is talking to tony in hushed tones. they stop when she approaches, giving her two sheepish smiles to her raised eyebrow.

"how're you holding up, romanova?" the forced cheer in tony's voice is so obvious he might as well chosen to go without, but it's the sentiment that counts, and natasha takes it for what it is. an olive branch, an attempt at comfort without stepping on her toes and exposing the raw, bleeding wounds to the stagnant air. clint is gone, and so is sharon.

"i'll be better once i skin this asshole alive." she says, and means it. steve frowns, but tony is unperturbed by any murderous intent he can see in her gaze. 

"well, you're in luck. you know how the cameras were tampered with? whoever did it is good. but they're not that good."

the makeshift conference room is silent. they had all gathered in an empty hospital room, crowded now with people whose faces show different degrees of apprehension. to natashas's right, steve stands tall, albeit looking like he hasn't slept since james was shot thirty two hours prior, sharon's hand stiff in his. tony is sprawled on one of the beds they haven't pushed out, tinkering with a gadget in an obvious attempt to keep his hands busy. hill and fury are standing next to a monitor tony has rigged up, displaying grainy security footage. natasha squints, leans forward, tries to make sense of the dark figure on screen.

"where's clint?" she asks, because his absence in the room is jarring, only to be interrupted by thor bursting through the door, wild eyed and dishevelled. he spots her, then takes two steps forward, only to sweep her into a bone crushing hug. everyone in the room kindly averts their gaze, except for tony, whose shit-eating grin could power the whole building. it's the third hug she's gotten since this whole mess started, and her patience is starting to run thin.

"i have heard about the great tragedy that has befallen upon us!" he booms, once he has set her down. natasha, for lack of anything better to do, runs a hand through her hair, catches fury's exasperated gaze, and sighs. "do we know who would do such a heinous crime?"

despite the wild theatrics of it all, it's oddly touching. here they all are, at three in the morning, trying to find out who had wounded one of their own. there are s.h.i.e.l.d. agents working overtime, going over the scene with a fine tooth comb, some of which have even refused to go home if only they'd be able to help. part of her wonders if james would even think that his pain would start a commotion of this magnitude. but thinking about his reaction to this inevitably reminds her that there is a very real possibility he might now wake up to see it, and the weight in her chest increases tenfold.

"we're tying to find out who did," steve pipes up, once it becomes obvious that natasha is not going to say anything, and maybe the cracks in her facade are starting to show, because she thought she had a firm grip on herself. either that, or everyone here has grown familiar to her own brand of denial. shaking her head, she presses her fingers to thor's arm, offering a brittle smile.

"join us?"

he does. 

whether stark's belief in his abilities is actually proportionate to the truth remains to be seen - once everyone is settled, and clint has returned with enough coffee to keep an entire army awake and alert, they go over the footage twice. although they are not able to identify a face, the blurry figure is decidedly male, tall and broad. it narrows down the pool of suspects, even if not significantly.

the effects of the lack of sleep is starting to get to them: sharon tries and fails to stay awake, nodding off against steve's shoulder, whose arm is wrapped around her waist to keep her upright, and even maria has to fight off a yawn a couple times. the only one who seems fully awake is thor, but his concentration wavers at time, and tony had sent him off to stay with james after the third unnecessary comment.

she had known, of course, that this was premeditated. that a great deal of work went into crafting the plan and seeing it through, something which reveals a plentitude of commitment. she had also known that finding out who did it was going to be hard, because anyone with half a brain who decided to go against not only the winter soldier, but the black widow and the avengers had to have the resources to pull it off. what she hadn't expected though, was for all this to be a message to _her._

"stop." the ice in her voice has everyone freezing. steve flinches next to her, then reaches to give her hand a squeeze. she feels suddenly very cold. "rewind, twenty seconds. then pause."

tony does what she says, watching the screen shift like a hawk, then pauses the video when she makes a noise in the back of her throat. there, in the corner of the frame, the beam from a streetlight illuminates the shadowy figure to reveal a white star.

and suddenly, she cannot breathe. once, when she was a child, before even thinking to attend the red room academy, she had ran off from under ivan's watchful gaze. she remembers the snow slowly falling, but not the chill she must have felt, drowned out by the sheer awe only a child could experience. but the joy was short lived. it took ivan six hours to find her close to death, ankle snapped and buried under the snow, once she had fallen and hit her head against the truck of a tree. it's the same feeling she has now - helplessness, mixed with the terrible thought that everything would end.

"natasha?" fury's voice pierces through the fog, pulling her out from the cold. there is something warm and sticky on her hands, and she realises belatedly that the pen she has been absentmindedly playing with is snapped in half, the jagged edges breaking through skin. clint takes it away from her, trying to catch her gaze, but she's shifted her attention back at the screen, unblinking in the solemn, if confused silence.

"i need a jet. and i need to go alone."

**Author's Note:**

> welp, this is unfortunate for our brave heroes. can anyone guess who the person behind this mess is? if so, try your luck in the comments!


End file.
